


Through It All

by Inner_Devil



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Comfort, Complete, Death, Drug Use, Ficlet, M/M, Oneshot, Sadness, one chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5670340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inner_Devil/pseuds/Inner_Devil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the anniversary of Redbeard's death and, as we all know, Sherlock doesn't handle emotions well. Memories of Redbeard coming flooding back and he can't help himself. He heads straight for the drugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through It All

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry in advance for all the angst

It had happened again. Not that Sherlock or Mycroft would've expected any differently. This time of year was always hard on the Holmes brothers, Sherlock especially. No, it wasn't Christmas, or Valentine's Day, or Easter. It was something much worse and more significant than any of that. Today was the anniversary of the death of Sherlock's best friend. 

Of course, John didn't know this and so left Sherlock alone to go to work that morning. He had no clue what this day meant to the sullen detective, how much he needed someone. Sherlock never handled emotions well. Today, especially.

The curly-haired genius hadn't left his bed that morning, waiting until John had gone. Then he retrieved his stash and took his usual position lying on the sitting room floor on some pillows and blankets for a makeshift bed. But there was something else there that no one knew he still had, not even Mycroft. Wrapped tightly around his upper arm as a tourniquet while Sherlock inserted the needle into his vein was a dull, aged, faded red leash that had belonged to his deceased, but far from forgotten best friend.

Sherlock rested on his makeshift bed as the cocaine began to take effect, making everything seem so much easier. Removing the leash and holding it close, he treasured it along with the matching collar. He could almost imagine Redbeard was still there with him. 

* * *

 

"Come on, boy!" the young child shouted, racing towards his pretend pirate ship as a large Irish Setter chased him.

The pair reached the playset together, the brunette, curly-haired child smiling brightly and laughing as the dog, tail wagging furiously, licked all over his face.

"Redbeard!" he giggled jubilantly. "Cut that out! Pirates don't lick people!"

* * *

Sherlock sighed, emotion seeming to flow along with the drug through his body. He couldn't seem to rid himself of them. No matter what he did, his mind was filled with those memories. Ghosts haunting him for eternity. 

* * *

 

"Let's go!" the boy called, now in his teens. He still ran with the same vigorous energy though as his dog and only companion followed behind.

The lanky, pale teen was headed for his favorite hideaway, somewhere he could get away from everyone and just be with his dog. But the Irish Setter was getting older and slower, taking his time joining his master. Yet they still reached the location together. But this time was different. Instead of playing pirates as he had in his youth, the teen was using drugs. He'd just recently started and Redbeard was always with him, something to ground him as his mind took off on a drug-induced high. So just like always, the brunette shot up, this time with morphine, with Redbeard's head on his lap. But just as the drug really began to hit the teen, Redbeard spotted a cat. The elderly dog jumped up, barking and growling as he chased the creature through the grass, towards the street, and straight into the path of an oncoming car.

"Redbeard, no!" the teen screamed, but it was too late. Redbeard had been hit and killed instantly while the cat escaped.

The brunette rushed to his friend, kneeling and gathering Redbeard's lifeless body into his arms as he sobbed. How could he let this happen? It was all his fault.

* * *

 

Sherlock sighed, tearing up a bit and clutching the collar and leash impossibly closer. It was the last remaining piece of his friend that he had left. The last physical, tangible piece left behind. Sure, Redbeard would always be alive in his Mind Palace, but it wasn't the same. The curly-haired detective sobbed, not noticing the opening door as he tightened his death grip on the dull red collar and leash.

"Sherlock?" John called, coming upstairs and gasping as he saw his flatmate. ''Sherlock!" He rushed over to the man, taking his free hand and trying to help. But when he noticed what the man was holding, he furrowed his brow. "What's this?" he questioned.

Sherlock was quiet as he handed over his list. Along with it, he'd given John a paper with everything he'd been thinking about. It was a short list, really. Just three things were on it: 

_Redbeard_

_Death_

_My fault_

When John read it, it hit him. Today must be when Redbeard died. Sherlock was holding onto his leash and collar and had gotten high to deal with the pain. Sherlock blamed himself for Redbeard's death.

"Sherlock,'' the blonde sighed, holding his partner's hand. "I know you don't believe me, but it wasn't your fault. Mycroft told me what happened. Redbeard was old and dying anyway. He wouldn't have had much longer anyway. It's hard to accept, I know. I went through the same thing with Gladstone. But it really wasn't your fault." Knowing Sherlock was still upset, John came up with an idea. ''Tell me everything about him."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment before he began sharing stories. He told John everything, from the day Sherlock found the pup and brought him home to the day the poor dog had died and Sherlock became sullen and emotionless. John listened through it all, holding Sherlock's hand the entire time and learning Sherlock's story.


End file.
